cradled a hand over her belly. “I still have a
chance of evening the score.”
She smirked at his naivety. He hadn’t a prayer. Cara
had him wrapped around her finger, and Eve would too. This was only the start.
It was too bad she couldn’t warn him.
They had both decided to let Cara guide their first Christmas
festivities as a family, letting her set the stage of traditions for the years
ahead. It only made sense, seeing as how they had only spent one Christmas
together as a couple and most of that time was spent naked. Not much to build
on. Nothing G-rated at least.
They had already navigated a minefield of events since
Cara had come to live with them, allowing her to lead the way. When she
requested a princess party for her birthday at the end of the summer, they made
it happen. When she wanted to be a mummy for Halloween, they tore up old sheets
and wrapped her up (two trips to the bathroom had them spending more time
winding and unwinding and rewinding than trick-or-treating). Now Christmas was the
biggest production yet—ergo the purple lights and the soon-to-be popcorn
garland and the angel topper—her mother’s childhood angel whose wings had
broken off somewhere along the way in a story that was lost along with Renée.
“Angels aren’t supposed to have wings,” Cara had
insisted, cradling the angel in her arms like a baby.
Tell that to Frank Capra; it would ruin the whole
end of his movie.
“They don’t need wings. They look just like us. Like
my mom.”
Her words stopped Catherine cold—a pointed reminder of
what Cara was going through, her unimaginable loss. She would be processing her
mother’s death forever, seeing her life through her loss, a lens tinting
everything afterward. And while Fynn had lost both of his parents several years
ago, it was different when you were young. Catherine knew. She was thirteen
when her sister died, and though Josey was no longer a constant white-hot pain
deep inside her, she was still there. The hurt. The sadness. But also the joy
of her. All of it. Carried everywhere. Losing someone changed those left
behind forever, injecting a vulnerability to life. Once you lost you became more
aware of the possibility of losing again, and when it happened as a child, like
she had experienced, like Cara was experiencing, it was even more poignant,
because young people were supposed to feel invincible. Fear of mortality was a
learned trait that was supposed to come only with wisdom and time, not something
meant to rocket in and eclipse innocence.
So, yes, Catherine loved the tree that Cara had chosen.
She loved what it stood for. That it was Cara making her mark on this first
Christmas as a family.
“Oh, I almost forgot, there was something that came while
you were out,” Fynn said, jumping up from the couch.
“Not Tara on the machine again,” she groaned. “I told
her not to do that anymore.”
He retrieved a bland envelope, handing it over.
“Junk mail? Really?” she chuckled.
“It’s a telegram.”
“Yeah, that quirky marketing ploy has seen better
days.”
“No, it’s an actual telegram.”
“A wha—they actually still do that?”
“Western Union,” he shrugged. “Who knew?”
A stroke of brilliance came to her. “Do you know what
this is?” She held it reverently.
“I was hoping you would open it so we could both find
out.”
“No, I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
“This is the perfect gift for my father! Can you
imagine? One of those things! Do you think they even do that?” she asked. “You
know how they have all those…,” snapping her fingers, trying to grasp the word
she wanted, “… cards! The ones to all those places on that…,” wiggling her
fingers in the air when that word wouldn’t come either, “… thingy with the,”
poking now, like the pokey things that she could see and not grasp, grrrrr ,
“… pegs! Like at the grocery store!” She got more animated and louder as the
thoughts came harder. Like an
chance of evening the score.”
She smirked at his naivety. He hadn’t a prayer. Cara
had him wrapped around her finger, and Eve would too. This was only the start.
It was too bad she couldn’t warn him.
They had both decided to let Cara guide their first Christmas
festivities as a family, letting her set the stage of traditions for the years
ahead. It only made sense, seeing as how they had only spent one Christmas
together as a couple and most of that time was spent naked. Not much to build
on. Nothing G-rated at least.
They had already navigated a minefield of events since
Cara had come to live with them, allowing her to lead the way. When she
requested a princess party for her birthday at the end of the summer, they made
it happen. When she wanted to be a mummy for Halloween, they tore up old sheets
and wrapped her up (two trips to the bathroom had them spending more time
winding and unwinding and rewinding than trick-or-treating). Now Christmas was the
biggest production yet—ergo the purple lights and the soon-to-be popcorn
garland and the angel topper—her mother’s childhood angel whose wings had
broken off somewhere along the way in a story that was lost along with Renée.
“Angels aren’t supposed to have wings,” Cara had
insisted, cradling the angel in her arms like a baby.
Tell that to Frank Capra; it would ruin the whole
end of his movie.
“They don’t need wings. They look just like us. Like
my mom.”
Her words stopped Catherine cold—a pointed reminder of
what Cara was going through, her unimaginable loss. She would be processing her
mother’s death forever, seeing her life through her loss, a lens tinting
everything afterward. And while Fynn had lost both of his parents several years
ago, it was different when you were young. Catherine knew. She was thirteen
when her sister died, and though Josey was no longer a constant white-hot pain
deep inside her, she was still there. The hurt. The sadness. But also the joy
of her. All of it. Carried everywhere. Losing someone changed those left
behind forever, injecting a vulnerability to life. Once you lost you became more
aware of the possibility of losing again, and when it happened as a child, like
she had experienced, like Cara was experiencing, it was even more poignant,
because young people were supposed to feel invincible. Fear of mortality was a
learned trait that was supposed to come only with wisdom and time, not something
meant to rocket in and eclipse innocence.
So, yes, Catherine loved the tree that Cara had chosen.
She loved what it stood for. That it was Cara making her mark on this first
Christmas as a family.
“Oh, I almost forgot, there was something that came while
you were out,” Fynn said, jumping up from the couch.
“Not Tara on the machine again,” she groaned. “I told
her not to do that anymore.”
He retrieved a bland envelope, handing it over.
“Junk mail? Really?” she chuckled.
“It’s a telegram.”
“Yeah, that quirky marketing ploy has seen better
days.”
“No, it’s an actual telegram.”
“A wha—they actually still do that?”
“Western Union,” he shrugged. “Who knew?”
A stroke of brilliance came to her. “Do you know what
this is?” She held it reverently.
“I was hoping you would open it so we could both find
out.”
“No, I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
“This is the perfect gift for my father! Can you
imagine? One of those things! Do you think they even do that?” she asked. “You
know how they have all those…,” snapping her fingers, trying to grasp the word
she wanted, “… cards! The ones to all those places on that…,” wiggling her
fingers in the air when that word wouldn’t come either, “… thingy with the,”
poking now, like the pokey things that she could see and not grasp, grrrrr ,
“… pegs! Like at the grocery store!” She got more animated and louder as the
thoughts came harder. Like an
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